Irrational
by Katherinerachh
Summary: Sherlock panics when John stops replying to texts. Sweet fluffy friendship (and Johnlock if you squint)
1. Chapter 1

**Hey :) I'm a very new writer, but I've completely fallen in love with BBC Sherlock, and after spending a long time fangirling over other people's fics, I'm now giving this whole 'writing' thing a go. The chapters are quite short, so please bear with me. I'd love for you to read and review, and -hopefully- enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters (which is a shame)**

_Irrational_

"John! John we're going out!"

Sherlock strode across the flat, calling aloud while he knotted his scarf around his neck. He slowed, noting the silence of the flat, and made a conclusion: John had gone out. He frowned, digging his mobile from his pocket. He wished John wouldn't just leave like that, when there could be cases to solve or deductions to make, although - come to think of it -John may have said something earlier, while he was thinking, and had simply not been heard. Sherlock could picture John shaking his head in amusement at the unmoving form, and stomping out of the flat. Sherlock began the text as he left the flat, pulling the door shut behind him.

It had been 13 minutes and about 27 seconds since he had texted, and still no reply from John. John would usually reply within about 7 minutes when he was at work, after feeling the vibration in his pocket and deciding to focus on his work, then wanting to just see what his flatmate needed. Sherlock knew this, and frowned at the unidentified victim lying before him. If John wasn't replying, he was either in trouble or had something more important, which must mean he's -ah- with Sarah. Busy. Lestrade shuffled uncomfortably behind him, cleared his throat to speak;

"any ideas then, Sherlock?"

Sherlock straightened up, putting thoughts of his Blogger out of his mind. "Quite a few. He's obviously from Oxford, but staying with his-" Sherlock shifted the man's foot to show Lestrade the bare ankle,

"- brother."

"Obviously." Lestrade muttered, and?

Sherlock smirked. "He works as a secondary school teacher, he was married but now divorced with one son, who lives with the mother but spends time with him. He was heading back from the library - English teacher then - and was attacked by a shorter man from behind. His brother, I'd say."

He turned to leave, satisfied.

"Hold on," said Lestrade, "how do you know all this?"

Sherlock faced the body again and took a breath.

**So... not too bad I hope? Thank you for reading, please review for me (I'll love you forever) :) next chapter up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

1 hour, 3 minutes and a couple of seconds. No reply. Sherlock twirled a pipette in his fingers, observing the particular pattern made by the concentrated hydrochloric acid splattering across the table from his pipette. He sighed and wiped it off with his hand, suddenly bored by the samples he had been studying moments before. 'Effervescence', he noted aloud, glancing back at the bubbling Petri dishes. That meant that this case was closed, and the answer is so very glaringly obvious, simple, dull, with nothing clever about it, or tricky or a hidden challenge. Boring.

"John could you tell Lestrade-"

Sherlock looked around, then pulled out his own mobile to send the text. He thought about texting John again, for the fifth time, but no, John would laugh and tell him to stop worrying so much. He'd never had anyone to care about before, and he now felt like an annoyingly concerned mother. How irritating.

oOo

"Where are you? - SH"

"I solved the case, no thanks to you -SH"

"John? -SH"

"Okay, I admit it, I'm worried. -SH"

"Come. Home. Now. -SH"

"I'm calling my brother -SH"

"If you don't text me right now, I'll use your jam for my experiment. I will. -SH"

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, it means a lot :) next chapter to follow soon!**

**update: as ButterfishJellyfly pointed out, wiping concentrated hydrochloric acid with your hand isn't a great idea, but it would take a while to start stinging (about ten minutes, according to an Alevel Chemistry teacher) and Sherlock's never been one to worry about his own safety so I'd like to think it still fits.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

By the time John entered their flat, one hour and thirty-seven minutes after Sherlock had first texted, twenty-or-so texts and seven missed calls had the dark-haired sociopath practically bouncing off the walls with anxiety.

"John!" He exclaimed, "where the hell have you been? Are you okay?" He leapt towards the good doctor and seized him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes to read the answers there.

"I'm fine Sherlock! I'm here. What happened?" John asked gently, looking unblinkingly back into Sherlock's face.

"Your phone, give me your phone." He snapped.

"My-"

"Phone, yes. Now, would be good."

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked, handing over the phone, "oh, I think I'm out of battery."

"I didn't know where you went" complained Sherlock bitterly, turning over the device in his hand, "and you weren't replying to your texts." He looked back up at his friend, imploring him not to laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry I told you, I had to take an extra shift at the surgery. Look, I'll leave a note next time, shall I?"

Sherlock forced himself to calm his breathing. John hadn't gone, he was okay, everything was fine. The panic in his chest lessened, and Sherlock cleared his throat. "No need," he said. "I have a solution."

oOo

Sherlock watched John rustle the paper in the corner of the room. He knew that his roommate didn't like it when he stared too much, but it was okay, because John was watching him back. He made no comment; John liked to think he was subtle.

Sherlock replaced the cover onto the back of John's phone, and held it out. "Now I can track your phone, even if its out of battery." He said, as John crossed the room towards him. He swallowed nervously, eyes flickering from John's outstretched hand to the line of his jaw. He could see John thought they had to have 'a talk', to be expected, but not necessarily enjoyed.

"I knew you were fine really," he informed John, who drew nearer and took the mobile, "Mycroft is all-seeing and he approves of you."

"Sherlock." said John calmly, crouching before him like he would a child, "when I came in-"

"It was nothing John, I-"

"No, it wasn't 'nothing', Sherlock." John interrupted, "Please don't insult my intelligence. I may not be as observant as you, but as a doctor and your friend, I can see when you're panicking. You go missing for hours on end regularly, so what happened to make you that hysterical when I was only gone a couple of hours?"

"I was not hysterical John, do not exaggerate." Sherlock said angrily. "And there is nothing wrong with me!" He stood up, straightened to his full height and swept out past John. He headed towards his bedroom, snatching up his violin on the way past.

"You can tell me what's wrong, Sherlock! I'm your friend!" He heard the doctor call to his retreating back. That almost made him pause, to perhaps confide in John, and tell him that the very thought of losing him is so unacceptable, that - but no. John would laugh, or make assumptions, just like everyone assumes about the two of them.

Sherlock forced himself to walk away, leaving the man in an empty room with a modified mobile in his hand and a slightly pitying look on his face.

**thankyou for reading, please review! more to come**


	4. Chapter 4

John received the text three hours later. Sherlock had played several time-consuming pieces in violin, employing his second favorite method for stimulating his brain. Letting the music soothe him, Sherlock allowed himself to recall and contemplate the irrational ball of fear and dread that had grown in his throat and constricted his airways when John had disappeared. Sherlock dropped his violin and bow, caught in an idea, and switched on his laptop. He began to search, parts slotting into place as he uncovered material. When he finally confirmed his deductions, he seized his mobile triumphantly, punching out a text to his flatmate.

"Monophobia -SH"

Sherlock paused before hitting 'send', and considered John's wishes to have important talks face-to-face. He decided that it would be a lot simpler to just tell John through text, despite it being a fairly clinical and emotionally devoid method. He shared a lot of close things with his flatmate, but this was very intimate, and he really needed some time alone to sort his discovery into a place he can deal with, before John decides they need to have one of his serious conversations. Sherlock exhaled, pressed send, and sat on his bed, pressing his fingers together in a prayer-like pose. He would have to find a way to cope with this ridiculous anxiety, he decided. It was simply impractical to panic every time he had to let John out of his sight, and others were sure to realise something was amiss. Mycroft, the jerk, probably already had an idea of what was going on.

Sherlock prowled across his room, thinking and sorting his mind rooms for another few hours or so, before falling asleep restlessly on top of his covers. Confusing images of John - his only friend in the world - leaving him and laughing in his face, a perversely twisted, evil version of John, filled his dreams during the night.

**thank you**** for all the follows, favorites and reviews! I'm new here, so anything you have to say about my writing is appreciated :) Monophobia will be explained a bit more in the next chapter, I'll update soon (I promise) :D**


	5. Chapter 5

"Tea?" offered John the following morning. Sherlock hummed, picking up books at random and searching through them, throwing some behind him onto the sofa. John watched the pile grow behind the world's only consulting detective for a moment, before shaking his head and turning towards the kettle.

Sherlock paused for a moment as he heard a voice from the kitchen.

"Monophobia is the acute fear of being alone and having to cope without a specific person." John called, facing away from Sherlock.

"Yes."

"You have it?"

"It appears so."

Sorry, what?" John said, turning to face him.

"That's the most logical conclusion based on all the evidence." He replied, uncomfortable under John's direct gaze.

"And the 'specific person'," -Sherlock cringed - "that's me?"

"Obviously." he muttered, studying the dark stain on the table. He scowled, risking a glance up at John, who to his surprise looked a little bit defeated but undeniably chuffed. Sherlock chanced a smile at his blogger.

"I just... react badly if there's a possibility of you leaving me, and today brought that out."

"But that's stupid!" blustered John, "It's much more likely that you'll get bored of me, and find someone more interesting to solve crimes with, like Irene Adler..."

Sherlock blinked in surprise.

"What? John, you- you're the most extraordinary person I've ever met. I wouldn't leave."

"So that's settled then."

"What?"

"Neither of us are leaving. And everything's fine." John smiled tightly and passed Sherlock a cup of tea, moving past him and out of the kitchen.

He automatically took the mug, wrapping his long fingers around it. John obviously thought his words would console Sherlock, but perhaps underestimated just how irrational an 'irrational fear' really is. Sherlock could feel it nagging at him, and a thousand questions began to form around this new data to be processed. How long did this 'not leaving' thing apply for anyway, would John decide eventually that he was allowed to go? Or had John just offered to stay forever? How was he expected to react to that? More social etiquette that Sherlock used to be above?

"I- I suppose" Sherlock said to an empty kitchen, well after John had left for his work. He put down the mug of now-cold tea, and noticed a note in scrawled doctor's-handwriting: "gone to work, back at 4, mobile's fully charged today - JW"

Sherlock pressed the paper to his lips, smiled, and wondered if Molly would have anyone new and interesting to look at in the morgue.

**thanks for reading :) sorry if I started to ramble a bit there. I appreciate all reviews, even if you thought it was rubbish, I'm new here and I love constructive criticism! :) last chapter on it's way, love you all :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**epilogue **

It was three months since John and Sherlock had discovered the sociopath's semi-sweet phobia, and John had finally stopped overreacting about leaving the flat without Sherlock. He had purchased a whiteboard, which he proudly hung on the wall near the door, for him to write on when he was going somewhere. John thought the whole idea was brilliant, and Sherlock was, for the most part, just irritated that he wasn't allowed to destroy it, or even write lengthy calculations on it. He did often find, however, that talking to an empty room was less embarrassing when he had a whiteboard to blame for John's disappearance.

Meanwhile, John revelled in the thought that Sherlock actually needed him for something, and that if he left, he would be missed. He was allowed this small victory, this insight into the weakness and fragile nature of Sherlock Holmes' heart, because he never once abused his power over his friend. Sherlock had been afraid that John would use the phobia against him, but that is what Sherlocks do, not Johns. Johns, it was apparent, wear woolly jumpers, fight for what is right, and make tea with almost pathological routine.

John spent less time away from Sherlock than he used to. He seemed to have given up on girlfriends altogether, a notion that Sherlock whole-heartedly agreed with, and fairly happily resigned himself to a life of Sherlock. Others eventually noticed that the two were always in very close proximity to one another, but most preferred to put it down to an underlying sexual tension, rather than a weakness of Sherlock's. He was fairly touchy about the subject, and this happened to came across as very protective of John. Sally Donovan commented to John that he was practically "joined at the hip to the freak", and Sherlock very nearly shot her large nose off, stopped by the ever-patient doctor.

'Its not so bad', he thought to himself as him and John stepped out of the cab and walked the path up to the door of 221B. There were things that were still uncertain for his - their - future, but he knew that John, the one thing he loved more than his work, was beside him for now. He hoped, perhaps, forever.

As they reached the doorway, Sherlock glanced towards John, who smiled. He grasped Sherlock's shoulder reassuringly and said,

"I'll help you through this. You can depend on me, it's all going to be fine."

And Sherlock believes him.

**the end. **

**I hope you liked it! Thank you for reading, and to everyone who favourited/ followed/ reviewed, I love you all to bits. I hope this is everything you wanted from a conclusion :) ~X**


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